I’ve left the baggage
I’ve left the clouds
I see a new door open
It’s the door I want to take
But it’s not a road most taken
It’s a road for the few
But this road is my life
This is my passion, I’ve made my decision
This road less taken is the road I will travel
Sometimes I feel like I’m in an imagination
As if life is too unreal to be true
Like my dreams will never come to fruition
That it’s all in my mind
But then I learn to breathe
I’m taking in too much
I need rest
There will be times when you question yourself
Everyone else seems to get the hang of life
Why am I so backward?
I see everyone moving ahead
I’m still stagnant
It’s too much to take in
Alice was in her house. She was all alone in the dark. She is usually afraid of the dark. Terrified. But this night she turned the TV on and sat calmly on the sofa reading her engrossing book about travel and tourism. She always wanted to travel but she never had enough money. So, she’s been stuck in the same city for all her life. She is 35 and all these years she’s never travelled outside of her country. She has been to some cities in the same country but never outside. That disappoints her but at least she can read it in the books to see how the cities she’s never been to are expressed. She can imagine. Imagination doesn’t die and maybe some day she will travel.
This night was different. She didn’t feel afraid of the dark. But there were tubelights in her house and the bulb was burning bright. She didn’t want to turn off the light to sleep. The tragedy of living alone without a husband was she had to endure the dark which she didn’t like. But she felt better than other days today. She felt like she could face her fears with darkness. She can drive away the demons.
ALice went to sleep turning the lights off. She didn’t feel scared. She had the best sleep she’s ever had.
I used to see you everyday.
Every single day – You and me.
You used to teach me right from wrong
Tell me how to play by the rules
But now you’re gone.
Harboring a new horizon.
I will miss you my love.
I will miss you like hell.
You never knew how much you meant to me
How much I valued you
I thank you for all the wisdom and help
I hope one day our paths cross again
I will miss you like hell.
This poem is in response to the short story called Misery by Anton Chekhov
“To Whom Shall I Tell My Grief?”
Sorrow shimmers through his body
His son – his little baby calf – dead!
oh! What agony!
To lose a loved one is to repent a lifetime
If only someone would hear him bawl
Listen vehemently to his grief – his distress – his pain.
He would cry to the world
Curse at the cosmos
To acquire the wishful years lost;
For his only son to reappear in his arms again.
R.I.P – Kuzma Ionitch
Here they appear again
the demons, they envelop the brain
Confusing any ounce of sanity that used to be naturally present
Distortions of visual images
Distortions of sound vibrations in the air
If there’s such a thing as hell
it needs to be this
A deception of the real world
A blockage to function
Unnecessary triggers and gradual increase in amplitude
Weakness in the reality;
Rightness in the wrong;
Believing in the non-existent; believing in the lies.
Deception is hell.
A form of psychedelia.
Fight against all odds.